Jabumba Island. This was Tertius Base, the stronghold of the Tertius Division of the Orken Unbound.

  The structure rose from the center of the island like a dark fortress — a labyrinth of towers, iron walkways, and hangar ports carved into the rock. Massive banners marked with the Unbound sigil rippled in the ocean wind.

  Every Division of the Orken Unbound had its own structure, but the pattern was always the same:

  One Boss, chosen directly by the Supreme Boss, and beneath him, three Commanders — the strongest among their ranks. The positions were never permanent. Commanders rose and fell like tides, their titles decided by strength alone.

  Now, the Third Division — Tertius — was led by Koby-Ann, and his three Commanders:

  Havazar, the Lycan whose claws could tear through star-forged metal;

  Sancho, the Dragoon, master of aerial dominion;

  and Poliandrew, the Elf whose words could halt the motion of flesh and stone alike.

  Each commanded their own battalion of Unbound — soldiers forged in chaos, strengthened by survival.

  Many of them were Plunder Island challengers — survivors of that merciless arena who had accepted Koby-Ann’s offer of power.

  And now, they had achieved what no Unbound in history had done:

  They had defeated Pungence.

  The news spread like wildfire across Yilheim — from the fortified cities of the Binding Hand to the farthest rebel outposts. Every soldier, every mage, every criminal spoke the same words:

  > “Pungence was brought to his knees.”

  ---

  Far from the celebration, on a desolate island surrounded by black reefs, a man sat alone atop a rock.

  All around him lay the corpses of Binding Hand soldiers — their armor cracked, their weapons shattered, their insignias burned away.

  The man’s emerald eyes glinted under the pale sun.

  Quihote.

  He held a folded newspaper in one hand, its pages damp with salt. The headline read:

  “PUNGENCE BESTED — THE TRUE MAGE RISES.”

  His gaze lingered on the smaller image below — Valerius, mid-battle against Richard, with a golden spirit behind him.

  A faint smile touched his lips.

  “So… it’s begun.”

  From the ridge above, a voice called out, soft but edged.

  “I’ve been looking for you.”

  Quihote didn’t turn. “What do you want, Irisa?”

  She descended the hill in a single leap, landing before him with the grace of a predator. Her long silver hair shimmered faintly in the dim light.

  “I found him,” she said simply.

  Quihote finally looked up. “Found who?”

  “The Elvhein you spoke about.”

  He studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. “And what did you think of him?”

  Irisa crossed her arms. “For starters… he has one heart.” She hesitated. “And he uses two kinds of Bravo. Which should be impossible.”

  Quihote’s smile widened slightly. He tossed her the newspaper.

  “Then this will interest you.”

  Irisa caught it, glanced at the front page — and froze.

  The image of Valerius fighting Richard, Lorde glowing beside him, filled the cover.

  “Looks like he had a run-in with the Orken Unbound,” she murmured.

  “See that golden thing beside him?” Quihote said quietly. “That’s a spirit. Not an ordinary one — an Intelligent Spirit.”

  Irisa looked unimpressed. “And?”

  Quihote took a deep breath, his tone shifting, solemn now.

  “There’s this part of the story that said... he would walk with a Golden Executioner… and unite the Stones.”

  Irisa looked at him, her expression unreadable. “You still believe that story?”

  He met her gaze. “You don’t?”

  “I’ll know whether it’s true,” she said, turning away, “when we reach Mazorik.”

  Quihote rose to his feet. The wind tugged at his coat, carrying the scent of blood and sea.

  “Then I’ll be joining you this time,” he said. “I need to see it for myself.”

  Irisa paused, then added, “There’s something else you should know.”

  “What is it?”

  “Bumble tried to kill him.”

  Quihote’s eyes narrowed. “And he’s still alive?”

  Irisa nodded once. “They were saved — by Comingsrow. The former Kottor.”

  Quihote’s calm faltered. His voice dropped to a whisper.

  “...He’s still alive?”

  Irisa’s silver hair danced in the sea wind as she watched Quihote fold the newspaper and slide it into his coat pocket.

  “Yes,” she said quietly.

  Quihote’s gaze hardened. “I met his son a while back,” he said. “He’s Rampofo’s right-hand man now.”

  Irisa frowned. “Why would Rampofo send his Tertius Division to Zitry? Does he not fear Pungence?”

  Quihote tilted his head back, watching the grey sky roll over the sea. The wind carried the faint cry of gulls — and the heavier silence of grief.

  “Poor Andrea,” he murmured. “To be killed so easily… by that Dragoon.”

  Irisa’s expression softened for a moment. “I met her once — briefly,” she said. “You knew her, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” Quihote replied, his tone distant, almost wistful. “When I was a child, she used to visit our village with Pungence. Everyone loved her. She shouldn’t have lost to Omfry — it doesn’t make sense. He’s not even a Ranker.”

  Irisa’s eyes darkened. “He must’ve used Calethrin. Rampofo has been mass-producing it — to suppress Bravo users in his prisons.”

  Quihote clenched his fist.

  “We don’t usually interact with other races,” he said slowly. “But Andrea was different. We all loved her.”

  He turned, walking toward the slope where his Waver rested, its engines pulsing with a low hum.

  “Omfry will pay for this.”

  Irisa took a step forward. “Where are you going?”

  Quihote stopped and looked back, his eyes cold and steady.

  “To annihilate the Tertius Division.”

  Irisa’s brows furrowed. “You’ll be making Rampofo your enemy.”

  He smiled faintly — not with arrogance, but with resolve sharpened by fury.

  “I don’t give a damn.”

  He stepped onto the Waver. The turbines roared to life, blue light flooding the air beneath it.

  As it ascended, Irisa’s hair whipped across her face, her voice lost in the wind.

  She looked down at the newspaper still in her hand.

  The image of Richard standing over Valerius’s fallen body glared back at her, the headline beneath it reading:

  RICHARD — VICTORY CONFIRMED. OPPONENT DEAD.

  Irisa’s grip tightened until the paper crumpled.

  Her lips parted in a whisper, carried away by the wind.

  “I don’t believe it,” she said. “You’re not dead… you can’t be.”

  The waves crashed against the shore — and the sky above seemed to tremble, as if the world itself knew she was right.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  ---

  Elsewhere — The Council of Division Bosses

  The chamber was dim and vast, lit only by a crimson chandelier that swung lazily above a circular stone table. The air smelled of iron, smoke, and saltwater — the signature stench of the Orken Unbound.

  Around the table sat the titans of three Divisions.

  At the far end sat a man of dark skin and white dreadlocks tied in a regal knot. His eyes glowed faintly like molten coins beneath his heavy brow. His broad frame stretched nearly ten feet four, his every movement deliberate and patient.

  He was Babba Tunde, Boss of the Quartus Division, and a proud son of the Aurellian Clan of dark and gold eyes — a lineage of warriors known for their calm wisdom and terrifying physical might.

  Across from him reclined a towering woman — an Orken whose presence made even the air bow. Her long black horns curved backward like blades, her red eyes gleaming with predatory calm. Her hair was a dark brown cascade woven with thin golden threads. She was Athena Crosswhart, Boss of the Secondus Division, seventeen feet tall and feared for both her intellect and her cruelty.

  And between them sat Koby-Ann, tapping his fingers against the polished stone, irritation written across his face.

  “Where the hell is he?” he muttered. “It’s been three days.”

  Athena smirked, resting her chin on one hand. “Patience, Koby-Ann. He’ll be here.”

  “Patience?” Koby-Ann scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve been sitting here for three damn days. Three days I could’ve been enjoying my elf.”

  Babba raised an eyebrow. “Your elf?”

  Koby-Ann grinned. “Yeah. Got myself an elf. And not just any elf—an elf princess.”

  Babba chuckled deeply, the sound like rolling thunder. “Bravo, Koby-Ann. Good for you.”

  Athena interjected, her voice smooth and sharp. “I heard your division made quite the name for yourselves. Attacking Zitry? Pungence’s city? Even the Binding Hand don't mess with that place. How did you manage it?”

  Koby-Ann smirked. “Remember those guys the Supreme Boss had us break out of Striker’s Hell?”

  She nodded.

  “They did it,” he said simply.

  Her eyes narrowed. “And how did you make them do it?”

  Koby-Ann’s grin widened. “Oh, it was simple. I told them I’d kill them if they didn’t.”

  Babba Tunde laughed once — a heavy, booming sound that echoed against the walls. “Crude, but effective.”

  He reached for the newspaper on the table, the headline catching the faint light. Across the front page was a picture of Pungence kneeling, one hand pressed to the ground, and Jeriana above him, her arm outstretched mid-spell.

  Babba’s eyes flicked across the words. “Pungence Brought to His Knees — The True Mage Rises.”

  He exhaled through his nose. “A spell that can bring Pungence to his knees… Where did this woman even get such a spell?”

  Before anyone could answer, heavy footsteps echoed down the marble corridor.

  Athena straightened, sensing the weight of the one approaching.

  Finally, the doors groaned open.

  A mountain of a man stepped through — twenty-one feet tall, his horns black and curved like crescent blades. His right eye was missing, a trail of dried blood marking the scar that crossed his face. His clothes, torn in several places, still dripped with crimson.

  It was Cleeve, Commander of the Primus Division — the strongest division in the Orken Unbound, and one of the few recognized on the World Rankings.

  He walked to the table and sat, the stone creaking beneath his weight.

  Athena eyed him. “You look like hell. What took you so long?”

  Cleeve’s voice was low, rumbling like distant thunder. “We had a run-in with an Enforcer. Jacker. That bastard nearly killed Comingsray.”

  Athena’s composure faltered. “Comingsray? Is he alive?”

  “Barely,” Cleeve said. “He’ll live. But he won’t be fighting anytime soon.”

  Babba Tunde frowned. “Are the Enforcers truly that strong?”

  Cleeve leaned back, exhaling slowly. “You have no idea. We fought for three days straight.”

  Koby-Ann raised a brow, his grin returning. “You’re missing an eye.”

  “Yeah,” Cleeve said dryly. “I’ll have one of those expensive healing elixirs fix it.”

  Koby-Ann waved a hand. “I heard there’s a new version floating around — can even regenerate bone now. You should try it.”

  Athena’s gaze drifted toward the far door, her tone sharp.

  “Where is the Supreme Boss?”

  Cleeve sat forward, the shadows of the council chamber crawling across his face. His single remaining eye burned faintly red as he spoke.

  “He was badly injured,” he said flatly. “He’s healing now — that’s why I’m here.”

  He looked around the table, his gaze cutting through each of them in turn. “Where are the Elvhein… and the child?”

  Koby-Ann leaned back in his chair, legs crossed, his grin as smug as ever. “Stashed away in my division.”

  Cleeve’s tone sharpened. “And Dreados?”

  Koby-Ann laughed. “That weakling? Beaten by my elf.”

  Cleeve’s brow furrowed. “Your elf?”

  “Yeah,” Koby-Ann said with a lazy grin. “I’ve got an elf now. The prettiest thing in this world.”

  “Is he alive?” Cleeve asked, voice low.

  “Yeah,” Koby-Ann replied. “My Ride portaled him to safety before he could get launched into space. He’s fine.”

  Athena exhaled sharply, growing impatient. “Enough about your elf, Koby-Ann. Why are we even here, Cleeve?”

  The Primus Commander turned his head toward her, his expression unreadable. “Who’s the Dragoon that killed Andrea?”

  “That would be Omfry,” Koby-Ann said. “He’s one of mine.”

  For a long moment, Cleeve said nothing. Then, slowly, he clasped his fingers together, elbows resting on the table.

  “I don’t know if I should be happy… or furious.”

  Babba Tunde leaned forward, his voice calm but wary. “What do you mean?”

  Cleeve’s single eye gleamed. “You don’t have access to the same information the Primus Division does. That woman — Andrea — wasn’t just another Ranker. She was like a mother to Pungence. She practically raised him. And you—” he turned to Koby-Ann, voice dropping to a growl “—had her killed.”

  Koby-Ann sat up fast, the grin wiped from his face. “No, no, no. It wasn’t me! I never gave an order like that—!”

  But it was too late.

  The room began to tremble.

  Cleeve’s Bravo — heavy, crushing — began to leak into the air like pressure from a collapsing star. The walls groaned. The ground cracked beneath his chair.

  To Be Continued...